


Dawn Will Come

by PaleEmeraldNebula



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood Magic, Brief Mind Control, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Trespasser, Romance, Second Chances, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 02:57:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11568870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleEmeraldNebula/pseuds/PaleEmeraldNebula
Summary: Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, with a heart made of steel and ice, made decisions that shook the world. But she cared less for those nearest to her. She sacrificed the Chargers and left Blackwall to be hanged. She also told Commander Cullen Rutherford to resume taking lyrium, knowing that it was a death sentence.Ellana Lavellan, once First to Clan Lavellan, had lost everything. Bandits had killed her clan and everything she knew about her heritage was now being questioned. Aimless and lifeless, she found a beggar suffering from lyrium madness on the streets of Val Chevin. On a whim she decided to help this beggar, even if it killed her.But instead of death, Cullen and Ellana found a second chance.





	Dawn Will Come

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the awesome and wonder Sporehead (waltzing-with-my-inner-geek)!!

Ellana Lavellan stroked the king's willow weave hanging from the shelves of the kiosk, a frown etched on her face. The soft touch of the fabric, with the sun high above the market of Val Chevin, should have given her cause to smile. She shook her head instead and thought about her Clan never owning such finery. She ran her fingers through the fabric once more, imagining buying it for her people so they’d have lovely dresses to wear for festivities. She sighed and dropped her hand. They couldn’t wear anything now. They were gone, guided through death by Falon’Din years ago. She went to turn away when a merchant, the owner of the kiosk, came around the stall to face her.

“Shoo! Go away rabbit!” The fancy merchant with a thick Orlesian accent waved his hands, trying to chase her away. “You’ll scare off paying customers.”

She merely glared at him and pulled her hood closer around her.

The merchant waved his hands again, this time more frantically. “Shoo!”

Ellana turned away from him, taking her time, and made her way down the cobbled street. She didn’t know where her steps were taking her and she didn’t care. She was no longer a First and she had no one to lead or care for. It should be a privilege to guide and help others, but like all privileges, it needed to be earned. She didn’t want to join another Clan; doing so would mean she would have to explain to them her failures. 

Her  _ failures _ . She should have never allowed Idrilla, hunter and healer of Sylaise, to go in her place to the Conclave. Idrilla died, then the world turned mad, and Clan Lavellan didn’t stand a chance against suspiciously well armed bandits. She had vowed to protect her people, to protect the Clan, but instead Keeper Deshanna threw her down a ravine where she was swept away by a roaring river. Ellana lived that day, as the last of Clan Lavellan. Perhaps she should have joined the infamous Inquisition, but she had to bury her people and give them their last rites. By the time she had gathered the remaining items left untouched by the bandits and said her goodbyes, she didn’t have the heart to give to a cause.  

A sharp pain struck her heart. The memory of her last hug with Idrilla, tight and warm, wearing the last flower crown Ellana would ever make on Idrilla’s head, had faded with the years. She barely remembered the scent of the crown. Squeezing her eyes shut, Ellana went on her way, letting the road take her wherever it wished. She didn’t care. 

Besides her lost clan, her reclaimed culture now faced doubt and questions with the rumors being spread by someone claiming to be Fen’Harel. She didn’t trust the Dread Wolf, the trickster, when she had been taught all her life to be wary of him. She was one of the few elves that refused to listen to the call to gather under his lead. Even if the Creators were once only mages of great power, they were something more to her now, ideals and metaphors to live by, though saying that out loud to any Dalish would likely gain her odd looks.

No, she had nothing left but the last desperate cling to life.

At the bend of the road she heard voices, one clear and female, the other muffled and male. She didn’t worry too much, as she could defend herself and the sun still shone bright at midday. Others would pass by soon. As she grew closer, she saw a dwarven woman talking to a pale human beggar sitting next to a large bag. Curled into himself the beggar held out his hand, mumbling something.

“Commander? Commander Cullen?” asked the dwarf. “Can you stand? I can get you someplace nicer than this.”

But the beggar continued to mumble, something that sounded like, “Please”, and held out his hand closer to the dwarf. 

The dwarf’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Reaching into her armor, rich polished armor the likes of which Ellana had never seen, the woman took out a coin purse. She deposited a few coins into the beggar’s hands. “Here you go Commander,” she sighed.

The dwarf gave the beggar a saddened parting look and left.

Typically Ellana would pass this type of scene and continue on; she’d seen it enough times to have her fill. Yet this time the scene felt different. She stopped at the beggar's feet and looked down at him. The dwarf obviously knew this beggar. He’d been a Commander? A Commander of what though? The dwarf’s armor wasn’t Chantry, it looked similar to what the Inquisition wore years ago, but not quite the same. Obviously the beggar was a former Templar, suffering from the last dregs of lyrium madness. She should leave, let him rot. His kind weren’t kind to her people, to mages, especially Dalish mages. How many lies had they needed to spread to get the Templars off their backs? That they only allowed a certain amount of mages per clan? That they left mage children behind if they had too many? It sickened her to let others think the Dalish would do anything of the sort. They loved their mages, each one too precious to ever give up. She should move  _ on _ .

But something kept her from moving. He still had people, alive and waiting. Waiting for what? For him to die? Wouldn’t it be easier to just slit his throat and bury ... no, Chantry folk burned their dead. He looked up at her, just now realizing she stood over him. He held out his hand, mumbling please. Her sharp green eyes caught his golden and pity overwhelmed her. He looked sad. His blond curly hair fell to his shoulder, his long beard hid most of his face, but his eyes shone with emotion. The tilt of his brows, the glassy shine of tears held in check, all told her that somewhere inside him this man never wanted this.

She knelt before him and took his hand. It felt cold as ice and she used some of her magic to warm it. He moved his mouth as if to say something, though no words came forth. Perhaps he wasn’t used to people touching him. She could sense an old strength under his skin, and that if he were of a mind to, his large hand could have her small one in a viselike grip before she could react. He didn’t move a finger, allowing her to simply lay her hand on his. 

Taking a deep breath, Ellana stared into his eyes, wondering just what she should do. She could offer this man the peace of death, coin, the very little she had, for more lyrium, or? She was a mage, once a First, powerful and able. She could try to heal his mind. She knew of no spell or cure, yet that didn’t mean she couldn’t _try_. It was something, something to focus on, something to do besides brood over everything she lost. It could be her purpose or at least _a_ _purpose_ instead of wandering aimlessly.

Making her decision, she stood and placed her hands on her hips. “Commander Cullen, I order you to stand.”

He blinked and mumbled something about lyrium and need that even her elf ears couldn’t make out. 

She squared her shoulders and huffed. “I would very much like it if you would stand. Please.”

Again he just mumbled, moving his feet under him. Her ears twitched with annoyance.

Clenching her jaw, she bent down and grabbed him by the arms, trying to lift him to his feet. She simply slipped and fell face forward onto his chest, his body too heavy to even budge. He smelled just as he looked, strong body order filling her nose. As she scrambled to get up, she felt strong hands grab her just as she had grabbed him. Gently, and ever so slowly, he helped push her to her feet, letting go of her as soon as she regained her balance.

Ellana’s brow knitted together with concern. He looked away from her, no longer paying her any attention. There was no helping it. This man wouldn’t move, either from stubbornness or illness. Glancing left and right to make certain there were no others close enough to see, she swirled her hands and let her magic pool in her palms. Normally this type of magic wouldn’t work on a human, but his mind was too far gone and should be easy to manipulate with simple instructions. Softly, once the green smoke built to a steady fog, she blew it towards the beggar and he breathed it in. Within seconds his eyes glossed over and his limbs slackened. 

“Cullen, stand and follow me,” she said.

He stood, following her orders like a drone, grabbing the cloth bag as he did so. He wore a torn yellow shirt, revealing much of his torso, and trousers too small for him, ripped at the knees. He must have sold his other, better fitting clothes for coin to buy lyrium. He wore no shoes. For his condition he looked well built. She could see his muscles shaped beneath his rags, thinned out from a poor diet.

Holding her cloak closer to her, feeling like a criminal, she marched onward, looking for the nearest inn. She made sure this Commander Cullen followed her by glancing back at him every few moments. It felt wrong to put someone under a compulsion, particularly one meant to calm wild animals. It made her feel just as dirty as the beggar behind her. But needs must, and if she was going to help him, she had to get him behind closed doors. Working magic in the open, especially serious magic, would have only brought the new Templar Order down upon her. The new Circles under Divine Victoria were said to be worse than before, even though the Divine was now a mage. She couldn’t make any last-ditch effort to help anyone from a Circle where her cries for freedom would be silenced almost immediately.

The first inn she entered threw them both out and she should have seen that coming. Still near the market district, all the inns would be too fancy for a “knife-ear” and a beggar. She had to travel to the worst parts of the city, where homes had holes in roofs, and rats made their beds there just as readily as the poor. Luckily Val Chevin wasn't the biggest city in Orlais. The sun began to set by the time she finally found an inn that would accept her coin. The place seemed held together by the will of the tavern keep alone, as the decaying wood barely looked able to hold the structure upright. The grey hay on the floor mingled with items she didn’t want to identify. The patrons of the inn’s tavern, with oily beards and dark cloaks, all looked towards the two of them with narrowed and suspicious eyes.

Ignoring them, Ellana, with as much haste as her bare feet could provide without running, led Cullen to their one cot room on the second floor and locked the door behind them. 

“Lie down,” she ordered Cullen as he stood there waiting, his bag dragging on the floor.

He did as she commanded, letting go of his possessions, and as soon as his head rested on the half-eaten pillow, she waved her hand to release him from the compulsion. A strong breath of air she didn’t know she was holding came out of her and she shuddered. The guilt from using such magic would catch up with her in time. For now, she needed to concentrate on healing him. Ellana looked over to him and once again he curled into a ball, looking ashamed and frightened. 

“It’s okay, I’m going to help you.” She stepped cautiously towards him, holding up her hands.

Cullen looked around and furrowed his brows at her. “Please,” he croaked out louder than any time before, his voice rough with disuse. He began to shake, tiny tremors that made the cot sway, and Ellana realized a moment too late that he needed lyrium. He was going through withdrawal. 

Giving him lyrium wouldn’t help if she was trying to cure him but it wouldn’t help if he died on her either. Painstakingly slow, watching him for any sudden movements, she approached the cot and sat down beside him. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” she cooed. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Abruptly a thought came to her. _What was she doing?_ This man could panic and hurt _her_ instead. He could be just as dangerous as the men and women downstairs in the tavern. She should leave, let the man die with a roof over his head. She should give him her last vial of lyrium and then poison him while he slept. 

_No._ She had decided to help and that is what she would do. After all, it didn’t really matter what happened to her. And if she helped this man, wouldn’t that be better? She would feel more like herself again. _And if her efforts didn’t help?_ No, she wouldn’t think of that now.

Reaching out, she stroked his hair, oddly soft for a man so far gone. He watched her as she continued to caress him. She took his hand with her other hand, trying to get him to relax. His eyes narrowed.

“No,” he said, “You’re not real...no, I won’t...” he whimpered, making a half-hearted attempt to lean away from her. 

Ellana squeezed his hand. “I’m going to help you, Cullen,” she whispered, “Please.”

He blinked at her and went limp, the fight leaving him as quickly as it came. Still, he shook with the need for lyrium. “Do I...do I know you?”

She tried to smile and ducked her head, trying to look small and nonthreatening. “My name’s Ellana. We only met today.”

“I can’t tell if you’re real,” he said, trying to curl up tighter, “Please, leave me alone if you’re not real.”

She touched his forehead with care, then slid her fingers down his cheek, making him turn to stare at her. “I’m real, I’m here. I’m going to help you.”

Ellana needed to start lest he make a scene or start yelling. Waiting to heal him only delayed his recovery. She leaned away from him and made a large circle in the air with her hand, preparing her magic. Perhaps a soothing spell to start? Her magic flickered into existence, surrounding her arm with a muted green light. Cullen immediately flinched away from her, the cot swaying dangerously. All his tremors stopped, replaced by a horror in his eyes that Ellana didn’t understand. She broke the spell, squeezing his hand in acknowledgement of his terror. He then began to shake, violently. Withdrawal combined with his fears were making his condition worse.

“I suppose this isn’t going to be easy, is it?” she quipped. 

Ellana let him go and stood, knowing just what to do. She took off her brown hooded cloak, laying it on the cot next to Cullen, his eyes still trained on her. Keeping her messer around her waist, she sat down again and pulled her large leather pack in front of her, rummaging through her things. She had made the typical Dalish potion kit like any good First every few months, as a habit and in case of an emergency. She considered this an emergency. She pulled a small box from her pack, opened it, and took out a small blackish vial. It was a powerful sleep potion that should only ever be used once, because after the first dose the potion would become toxic to the drinker, who would swiftly meet Falon’Din. Desperate enough to use this potion, Ellana uncorked the vial and held it out to Cullen.

“Here,” she said, trying to be polite, “drink this. It’ll help you sleep.”

He looked to the vial then back to her, his breathing heavier now than before. With trembling hands, he reached out for the tiny glass container. He looked at her again before downing the potion in one gulp. She was grateful he trusted her. Or perhaps he didn’t care what happened to him, something she could relate to. It didn’t take long for the potion to do its work and Cullen fell fast asleep, head slumping on his shoulder. He would sleep for the next sixteen hours, giving her time to work out a way to cure him. She got up and moved him into a more comfortable position, covering him with her cloak, then sat on a nearby wooden stool.

She watched his breathing while contemplating her next move. What magic would work for him? She knew plenty of Dalish, Nature, and Spirit to heal most injuries, but his wounds were too deep for normal magic. Perhaps a combination of those three? That was a place to start at least.

Ellana tried her first combination, a strong combination of Spirit and Dalish magic. The room swirled with green and golden light for a few seconds before dimming. That hadn’t worked. She tried another combination. Then another, and another. Spell after spell did nothing to cure him of his madness, though it did help him stop shaking, as well as cure some of his other ailments from being in his condition. Color had returned to his skin. But she was no closer to giving him back a self that could think clearly again. 

Plopping down on the stool, she pulled her pack towards her, her hand reaching immediately for her most precious possession. The Book of Clan Lavellan held all their knowledge of the old ways, including magic that was often forbidden for them to learn by their Keepers. The thick book felt both right and wrong in her hands, right because it was the book of her heritage, wrong because she didn’t deserve to hold it. Cracking the book open carefully, she slowly read through the pages as the stars and moon shone through the one small window in the room. She ignored the rumblings of her belly and the dryness of her throat as she studied, even going over things she already knew. 

Page after page, reading by a single lit candle, she found nothing to help her cure Cullen. But the book was thick. By the time the moon hung high in the sky, her hand stopped on a page, her eyes staring with disbelief. She read the page twice, then a third time. She had found it! She had finally found a way to cure him, or at least, there was a very large possibility that she could cure him with this. The spell involved an exchange of deep life essences, giving him her own bodily strength and health. But it wasn’t Dalish magic, or Spirit, or Nature. To cure Cullen, Ellana would have to use Blood magic.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry to all good wonderful Inquisitors named Evelyn Trevelyan! I went with a default Inquisitor here instead of making one up.
> 
> Also, yes, a lot of this is, well, bad. The compulsion and blood magic and everything will have grave effects later on and of course will be properly addressed. But this is a Fix-It fic for Cullen's bad ending and well, curing lyrium madness was never going to be easy. It's probably why it's not in canon yet. Or ever will be.


End file.
